


Revenge of the Spag Bol

by Tadpole4176



Series: Retirement Trouble [8]
Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadpole4176/pseuds/Tadpole4176
Summary: What if Top Gear just kept going… until someone thought he needed to retire? And what if Stig thought that was a bad idea?Richard decides to do some cooking, it doesn't go well.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond/James May
Series: Retirement Trouble [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953919
Comments: 18
Kudos: 6





	1. Day 1

“Ta da!” Richard dragged Jeremy to the dining table enthusiastically, beaming all over his face, clearly really pleased with himself.

“What have you done?” asked Jeremy nervously. “Should I be afraid?”

“Sit there,” instructed Richard, ignoring the man’s questions and disappearing at something close to a trot into the kitchen.

He reappeared mere seconds later, holding a plate piled high with spaghetti bolognese, placing it in front of Jeremy and standing back, still beaming all over his face.

Jeremy looked over at him, cautiously. “It looks lovely,” he began. “How scary does the kitchen look?”

“I can clear up,” promised Richard.

“Before James gets back?”

“Definitely,” replied Richard. “He’s not due back til tomorrow, right?”

Jeremy laughed. “Tomorrow,” he concurred.

Richard scampered back into the kitchen, this time emerging with a beer and a plate of garlic bread.

“Amazing, Hamster,” grinned Jeremy, before he ran off again, returning with his own plate of food and sitting down alongside Jeremy. “Though, should I be checking you for injuries?”

“Ha ha,” responded Richard. “I’m fine. Dig in!”

………………………………………………

Jeremy helped Richard clear up afterwards. The little guy had done an amazing job of the cooking – nothing burned onto any pan, no smoke alarms or injuries – but wow he’d made a mess of the kitchen. There seemed to be dirty pans over every surface, tomato sauce and occasional strands of spaghetti splattered right the way up all 4 walls, and – most bizarrely – a wooden spoon stuck on top of the hood of the cooker. By the time they’d finished, the dishwasher was completely full and Richard’s top half was entirely soaked through, but the kitchen was in a reasonable state again, possibly even a state that would be acceptable to James.

“You should get changed,” suggested Jeremy gently, pointing at the sodden T-shirt his friend was wearing.

“Yeah, I think the tap got the better of me there,” conceded Richard.

“Go on, we’re done now, we can chill out on our excellent sofa and watch one of those terrible films you like if you want?”

“Yeah?” Richard bounded out of the room and up the stairs as Jeremy took a more leisurely stroll to the lounge.

An hour later, the two of them were sprawled together on the sofa in front of X-Men Apocalypse, Jez half watching the movie, and half playing with his phone – expecting James to send him an update on his arrival the next day. Richard had finally relaxed and was lying along the sofa, his head resting on one of Jeremy’s legs, and his slowly drooping eyelids fixed on the TV. Every time the volume of the music rose, his eyes would open wider, and he would pay more careful attention for a few minutes until the action died down a bit and he could relax. Nonetheless, by the time Apocalypse was making his move to cleanse the world, Richard was snoring away lightly on Jeremy’s knee, completely dead to the world. As the final credits rolled, Jeremy heaved himself out of the sofa with Richard in his arms, and staggered up the stairs to bed, posting the boy into his tent bed without him stirring at all.

The night didn’t go so well.

Around 4am, Jeremy woke with an upset stomach. He lay in bed, ignoring it, for as long as he could, before finally heading to the bathroom, spending a chilly half an hour trying to sort himself out. He was just feeling slightly better, headed back to his warm and comfortable bed, when an ominous groan came from Richard’s room.

For a moment, his bed beckoned more loudly then Richard’s groans, and his feet continued towards his own room. Then his conscience woke up and had a quiet word with him, and his feet diverted.

Richard was in a terrible state. He sat, fully upright, at the very bottom of his bed, his hair sticking up all over the place and his eyes completely open, but making no move to either go back to sleep or to climb out of bed.

“Hamster?”

“I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled. Then, with an ominous burp, he threw up all over himself and Jeremy.

Jeremy flinched, he couldn’t help himself, but once the retching had stopped, he carefully placed a large hand on Richard’s shoulders, gently guiding him to the bathroom and sitting him down on the edge of the bath, before speaking quietly to him.

“Is there any more?”

Richard’s eyes opened wide, staring up at Jeremy, glistening slightly. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“OK, you stay here, if you feel more coming aim at the toilet. I’ll get you some new clothes.” Jeremy paused, rubbing his hand tiredly across his face. “Is there any in your bed?”

Richard nodded miserably, his stomach making gurgling noises.

“I’ll sort it out, it’s fine,” soothed Jeremy, rubbing Richard’s shoulder before heading off to inspect the damage.

Richard’s bed was coated. Shuffling the tent cover to one side, Jeremy stripped it, replacing the sheets and shoving the dirty ones in the washing machine before finding some clean pyjamas for both of them and heading back to the bathroom. He was gone quite a few minutes, long enough – apparently – for Richard’s stomach to decide it wasn’t finished.

“Oh Rich,” said Jeremy, rubbing the boy’s back as he kneeled in front of the toilet, waiting for him to finish.

“I’m OK, you can go back to bed, Jez,” panted Richard.

Jeremy sighed. “As if,” he replied, incredulously.

The noises of Richard’s stomach ruled for several minutes, long enough for Jeremy to worry that there would be nothing left inside his little friend. Then, finally, Richard turned round miserably, tears tracking down his face, and announced, “I think I’m done now.”

“Brilliant,” grinned Jeremy, handing him a glass of water. “Let’s go and get some more sleep then. James is arriving bright and early.”

Richard swallowed, putting the glass down. “Why would he be early?”

Jeremy shrugged. “It’s James.” He held his arms out, bringing Richard to his side as he stood up off the edge of the bath and shuffled them back to Richard’s bedroom.

“Jez?” whispered Richard. “I feel really horrible, I don’t want to be on my own, can I sleep in your bed with you?”

Jeremy smiled affectionately, glad Richard could admit to it, before responding. “As long as you can handle James mocking you about it tomorrow!”

“It’s fine, if he goes too far I’ll just throw up on him,” groaned Richard.

Jeremy snorted, turning them at the last minute to head to his room and pulling the covers back to allow Richard to climb in. “I’m just going to get a bucket, OK?”

“Mmmm,” agreed Richard, his eyes already closed.


	2. Day 2

“I’d wondered if the house might have burnt down. I vaguely expected the great flood, or a fort built entirely from takeaway pizza, but I didn’t expect to arrive home to find the two of you sharing a bed and still asleep at 11am! Should I be worried?” asked James, settling a cup of coffee for Jeremy on the bedside table, then standing at the side of the bed, waiting for an answer.

Jeremy groaned, rubbing his head as he remembered the previous night, then using his free hand to check the bed for anything unpleasant. His right arm was still wrapped around Richard, who was snuggled up to his side and still completely out of it.

“Hamster was sick,” croaked Jeremy. “I think probably there was some dodgy cooking involved, because I was a bit rough during the night. But he was sick, and then he came over all cuddly and needy.”

“Ah,” said James, knowingly. “I thought it was unexpectedly quiet.”

Jeremy shuffled himself upwards, bringing the still sleeping Richard with him as he found himself a comfortable position against the headboard and, gesturing to James that it was now safe to sit on the foot of the bed, reached for his coffee. He caught James’s eye again. “It was really horrible,” he admitted. “I was a bit worried. I’m not normally on my own when this sort of kid-crisis happens. How do you know when puking is serious in little kids?”

James smiled. “He’s not that little, I think it’d have to be quite a few days before you’d really need to worry.”

“Yeah, and I know that really,” admitted Jeremy. “But there was no one here to tell me that, and it was the middle of the night.”

“You could have called me,” pointed out James. “That counts as an emergency, even if you’re wrong.”

“He’s so little,” said Jeremy. “And so much came out.”

James grimaced.

Richard moaned, suddenly shifting in his sleep and practically falling out of bed before sticking his head in the bucket. This time it was James who moved to his side, stroking his hair and trying to soothe him until the worst of it was over. Looking up at Jeremy’s pained expression and sympathising with both of them.

“Come on, Hamster, get it all out,” whispered James.

Richard groaned again, staring into the bucket silently for several minutes, before finally turning to acknowledge James. “You’re home?” he grinned weakly, reaching out to hug James.

“Yeah,” agreed James, rubbing his back, then standing up, with Richard still wrapped round his neck, smiling at Jeremy as he carried their boy out of the room.

“Come on, Hamster,” said James. “Let’s go downstairs, get a drink.”

Slowly, James descended the stairs, Richard still in his arms. He wandered into the kitchen and carefully placed Richard on the counter, putting him at a better angle. “Maybe we should check your temperature too at some point,” mused James, “though at the moment I’m not at all sure we have a thermometer.” He reached his hand out to Richard’s forehead. “You do feel a bit warm.”

“I feel horrible,” mumbled Richard. “Like a really bad hangover.”

“Maybe we should start out by working out how much calpol you can take?” suggested James. “We don’t actually know how old you are, so even though we think you’re around 12, we might have to accept that you’re more the size of a 10 year old, or less.”

“Less!” protested Richard, immediately coughing violently.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” commented James. “It’s OK, for driving purposes we’ve declared you to be 12. Too much less and they wouldn’t be letting me drive either, remember, we got caught in the same magical fountain of Stiggy youth, after all. But I’m definitely full size.”

“Oh yeah,” nodded Richard, thinking back. “Do we even have calpol?”

“Yes!” declared James, looking tremendously smug and pleased with himself. “Given your tendency towards injury, I thought being prepared in that regard would be best.”

Richard stuck his tongue out, then burped ominously.

“Aim for the sink if you’re going to blow,” instructed James, wincing.

“I will,” promised Richard.

James dug in his pocket for his phone. “Right then, an estimate of your physical size. We need to know the average height of a boy…” He trailed off, reading on his phone, then reaching for Richard to help him slide to the floor.

“Stand up straight.” James produced a tape measure from nowhere, he’d probably been carrying it in his pocket. “I make that…. 135cm, so,” he glanced back at his phone, “average for a boy between the age of 9 and 10. You think that’s where you were the first time round at 12?”

Richard frowned as James lifted him back onto the counter. “Probably,” he agreed. “Certainly everyone was a lot taller than me.”

“Yeah, but were the kids 2 or 3 years below about the same size?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted Richard.

James grinned. “It doesn’t matter really anyway, we can safely say for the purposes of calpol that you’re 9.”

Richard cringed.

“Though you’re almost certainly 12,” added James.

Richard rolled his eyes. “Thanks, good save.”

James grinned, going to the cupboard and rummaging round to find the calpol. “You going to dose yourself?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Richard, very certainly.

“Do me a favour though?” asked James.

Richard looked up.

“Don’t take it when you’re by yourself? Please?”

Richard sighed. “OK, I won’t,” he promised, measuring out the appropriate quantity of calpol as James watched.

James ruffled his hair, then helped him down from the counter and handed him a cup of hot chocolate. “Come on, let’s go sit on our magnificent sofa and be lazy. If you feel a bit better later, I’ll bring in some motorbike parts to play with.”

Richard sank into the sofa, putting the hot chocolate down and lying his head back against the sofa with a moan. By the time Jeremy made it downstairs he was asleep again.

………………………………………

It was dark when Richard next woke up. Jeremy, who hadn’t even spoken to him since James had arrived that morning, was sat reading a book next to him as he stirred, quickly placing his bookmark between the pages and stroking Richard’s hair back as he noticed him stirring.

“Do you need the bucket?”

Richard, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth firmly clamped shut, nodded vigorously as Jeremy passed him the offending object, then rubbed his back as he waited for the latest bout of vomiting to be over.

“It’ll get better, Hamster,” said James. “Don’t worry.”

“I know you might not feel like much,” began Jeremy. “But do you want to eat a little bit?”

Richard shook his head, tears running down his cheeks now, and burrowed silently into Jeremy’s side, the much larger man quickly making space for him under his arm.

James disappeared for a moment, only emerging a few minutes later with another hot chocolate. “Here, try this,” he suggested. “At the very least it’ll taste better.”

Richard held his hand out from under Jeremy’s arm, smiling weakly in James’s direction but still not really talking to them. Slowly, watched by both men, he took a sip. Ignoring their gazes, for several minutes Richard continued to sip at the chocolate, then when he’d drunk about a third of the mug, he handed it to Jeremy.

“I’ve had enough,” he said, shuffling down in the seat and getting more comfortable against Jeremy’s side, his arm lying across Jeremy’s stomach and his head against his shoulder.

James shook his head slowly. “He really needs to have more than that.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t think we’re at the point of forcing him just yet,” he replied quietly.

“Probably not,” conceded James.

Richard, either oblivious to or ignoring their conversation, let out a soft sigh. Jeremy looked down at him fondly. “Maybe we should just take him back to bed? See if he can sleep it off.”

“It’s pretty late anyway,” nodded James.

Jeremy shifted his grip on Richard, lifting him up as he rose from the sofa, letting James peer at their friend’s face once he was up, the younger man reaching out to touch Richard’s forehead.

“I probably should have fed him more calpol,” said James. “He’s warm, though not stupidly so.”

“You didn’t get a lot of chance,” observed Jeremy. “The chocolate was good, don’t worry. Come on, help me get him into bed.”

James nodded, grabbing the bucket and taking it to clean it before following Jeremy and Richard upstairs.

Jeremy walked slowly upstairs carrying Richard, mindful of waking him up, heading straight for his own room again. He pulled back the covers and settled Richard into the bed, before getting changed himself and climbing in too. James settled the bucket beside the bed and handed Jeremy his half finished book.

“You want anything, Jez?”

“Just keep us company for a bit, James,” grinned Jeremy. “Tell me about your trip. How did it go?”


	3. Day 3

Not much changed the next day. Richard was clearly still feeling very rough. He woke up, threw up, and then clung to Jeremy in the bed until James made himself available. Then he went downstairs with James and remained glued to James’s side throughout the day, spending nearly all of the time either vomiting or sleeping. Even when he was awake and not actively making use of the bucket, Richard was subdued and tired, lethargic.

It wasn’t like him. Even understanding that he was ill and it was temporary, James was desperately disturbed by a quiet, still Hamster, it just seemed so wrong. As one of his arms cuddled Richard, the other spent a great deal of its time doing research on his phone, investigating at what point he should start to worry.

Of course, researching that sort of thing on the internet was really asking for trouble.

After a couple of hours of web surfing, James was completely convinced that Richard was in imminent danger of death and in fact instead of cuddling on the sofa, they should be rushing him to hospital.

“James,” said Jeremy, after an hour or so of James mumbling to himself under his breath and clearly getting worked up. “He’s just sick, it’s almost certainly food poisoning. He’s going to be fine. The only lesson to learn here is that we should never let Richard cook ever again.”

James snorted. “I think I’ll certainly take that as read,” he agreed.

Jeremy waved his hand, indicating that James should continue.

“Yes, you’re right, Jezza. The internet is full of scary nonsense.”

“Better,” said Jeremy. “Remember what I said the other night, you need someone to tell you when you’re getting your brain all tangled up in it.”

“Thanks,” acknowledged James, taking a breath and thinking through what he’d been reading.

“Is there anything you think we really need to be worried about?” asked Jeremy. “Genuinely, not just paranoia, worried.”

“I think just not eating at all, really,” conceded James. “He’s already really skinny, I know it’s a problem, particularly for kids.”

“He’s a big kid really,” pointed out Jeremy, a sentence that Richard would probably have given anything to hear.

“I’m not sure if age or size is more important,” shrugged James. “I’d have to ask a doctor.”

“I’ll tell you what,” offers Jeremy. “How about we call his Mum and get advice, then if he still looks this bad tomorrow, we’ll speak to a doctor?”

“We’re not going to freak her out?” asked James.

“She had three boys, I don’t think so,” laughed Jeremy. “It’s OK, I’ll talk to her.”

“With some tact?”

“I can do tact when I feel like it,” protested Jeremy.

James laughed. “Of course.”

Jeremy just looked at him, pretending to be offended, then removed his phone from his pocket with a flourish.

“Mrs Hammond,” he said.

Mrs Hammond was in her mid-eighties, but still as sharp as anything, she knew immediately she heard Jeremy’s voice that something was wrong. “What’s up with him?” she asked.

“Vomiting,” replied Jeremy. “Really a lot of vomiting. We wondered when we ought to be getting worried.”

“At 12 or so?” she asked, which sounded silly, because she’d seen Richard fairly regularly since his transformation, and even quite enjoyed revisiting his youth – though she’d admitted several times to both Jeremy and James that she didn’t think she’d have been up to taking care of him this time round – but they’d never really been completely sure how old they thought he was, and Stig had never had any more information.

“James did some measuring, he says he’s the height of an average 9.5 year old, and guesses that makes him somewhere around 12!”

The old lady chuckled. “He never was very big! It’s funny though, we didn’t notice – he was still our oldest.”

“Not anymore,” laughed Jeremy.

“True,” she agreed. “Though I don’t think he’d relinquish that title so easily, he did the important part of being the oldest growing up the first time, and that’s still his.”

“Hmm,” said Jeremy, doubtfully.

“I know, I know, he’s like your little brother this time round, don’t try to deny it Jeremy.”

“I wouldn’t!” protested Jeremy.

“Anyhow, you said he was vomiting? How many days has it been?”

Jeremy frowned. “Two, I think. It’s been a weird couple of days.”

The old lady laughed. “You’re such a worrier, Jeremy. Two days is nothing, he’s 12!”

“There was a lot of content,” put in Jeremy.

“And his other big brother James got worried?” observed Mrs Hammond.

“Always,” laughed Jeremy.

“Just make sure he drinks, feed him if you can persuade him. The doctor will be sympathetic if you speak to him, but I don’t think you need to. Take care, Jeremy. You and James,” she added. “You’re good boys.”

“We will,” promised Jeremy, blushing.

“Don’t let those ridiculous reporters get you down either. If I don’t have a problem, then no one should.”

Jeremy grinned, enough to make James look over at him questioningly.

“Speak to you soon. I’ll come and see you all again when he’s feeling better,” she offered. “Bye.”

“Bye,” replied Jeremy, though the old lady had already hung up – she never was one for hanging around.

“And?” said James.

“She says we’re being stupid and have no reason to worry, he’s not a baby.”

James pulled up the hem of Richard’s jumper, showing the older man the ribs he could see there.

Jeremy shook his head. “We’ll see how it looks tomorrow.” He got up, heading upstairs. “I’ll just get ready then I’ll come fetch him.”


	4. Day 4

This time, the morning dawned earlier. At around 8am, Jeremy got up for a meeting Andy needed him at. He wasn’t expecting to be long, Andy had been easily put off anything more elaborate in the circumstances, but he needed to attend. Once he was ready to go, Jeremy popped his head round the door of James’s room, waking the younger man up.

“Jez? What’s the matter? Is Hamster OK?” James groaned as he blinked up at Jeremy in his doorway.

“All fine, still asleep,” promised Jeremy. “I’m just letting you know that I’m off to a meeting.”

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing much, Andy needs me to help soothe a few feathers, that’s all.”

James snorted at the preposterous idea of Jeremy soothing anything. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he responded. “See you later.”

Jeremy left.

James didn’t hang around. As Jeremy left the house, he slid out of bed, getting himself ready and fetching his first cup of tea before heading into Jeremy’s room to check on Richard.

To his surprise, Richard was awake, and sitting up in bed. He was still incredibly pale, and he’d clearly made use of the trusty bucket already, but he looked a lot more alert than he had.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” grinned Richard. “I think so.”

“Breakfast?” suggested James.

Richard slid off the bed and hit the ground with a light thump. “How about, I’ll come into the kitchen and have a drink and see what my stomach says after that?”

“Sounds perfect,” grinned James, grabbing the bucket and heading back out of the room and listening for the noise of Richard padding after him.

It was a few minutes, but as he busied himself with making a hot chocolate, Richard finally emerged as it was ready, still in pyjamas and with his hair sticking up all over the place, but looking so much better, James found himself beaming simply at the sight of him. The relief!

“You look so much better!” he commented.

“I think it’s finally out of my system,” grinned Richard, beaming back at James. “Thanks,” he added, as James handed him his drink.

“I’m just getting some toast,” said James. “If you want to join me?”

“Maybe,” hedged Richard, looking a bit uncertain.

A knock at the door saved him from making a decision. “You go get that,” suggested James. “I’ll make two slices of toast, and you can eat one of them if you want to.”

Richard nodded, placing his hot chocolate on the counter and rushing to the door, opening it to reveal the Stig.

“Who is it?” called James.

“Stig!”

“I can’t come, I’ll burn the toast!”

“I’ve got it,” called back Richard, rolling his eyes at James’s lack of trust. He turned to the racing driver at the door. “Sorry about that, Stiggy, sometimes James thinks he’s my Mum. Which is a terrifying thought actually, so let us never speak of that again. What’s up?”

Stig handed him a bottle of WD40, then tipped his head and walked away.

Richard, still holding the oil, stood and stared at the open door for several minutes, completely baffled.

“What did he want?” called James.

Richard, unable to adequately explain, handed James the WD40, then sat down at the table, cutting a slice of toast in half and nibbling at the edges of it.

“Maybe he thinks you need oiling?”

“That’s a disturbing thought,” said Richard, raising his eyebrows.

“I meant in the sense that cars need oiling when they’re not working right!” protested James, almost choking on his own toast.

“Oh,” Richard paused. “That does sound a bit like Stig, actually.” He slapped James on the back as the man continued to cough, interrupted by the doorbell going again.

“It’s like Piccadilly Circus here this morning,” coughed James.

“Stiggy’s probably forgotten to drop off a can of petrol or something, car wax maybe,” said Richard, heading for the door again.

“New tyres,” coughed James.

Richard flung the door open, his jaw dropping in surprise as there was suddenly a flash in his eyes and the man held a microphone in his face.

“So, Richard, how did you feel about Jeremy leaving you at home alone the other night?” he asked.

Richard regarded the man carefully for a moment, before opening his mouth and allowing his swirling stomach to make his point for him by throwing up all over the man’s shoes.

“I’m sixty, you idiot,” he added once he’d finished, backing away and slamming the door shut before the man had chance to respond.

“Who was that?” asked James.

Richard shrugged. “I think it was a bit early for toast,” he declared.

“Reporter?” asked James.

Richard nodded, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Nice shoes?”

“Not anymore,” grinned Richard.

“Nice job,” agreed James, chuckling. “I don’t think even Jeremy could have put it so eloquently.” He holds his hand out to rub Richard’s back. “Sounds like we’re still resting and watching TV this morning then?”

Richard sighed. “I suppose so,” he agreed. “If I manage to eat some lunch can we go for a walk or something this afternoon?”

“Yes,” agreed James. “And I can bring in a few motorbike parts to play with this morning,” he offered, laughing as a huge smile spread across Richard’s face.

…………………………………………………

Jeremy had had a terrible time at the meeting. Not only was it designed to be having a go at him about something that should never have been a problem in the first place – leaving Richard at home on his own – but he was so pre-occupied by worrying about poorly Richard that he couldn’t concentrate on charming his way out of it. Instead, when the annoying director guy started having a go at him, Jeremy had shouted that he’d left a sick Richard at home when he didn’t want to in order to appease them about something that even Richard’s Mother had declared wasn’t a problem, and walked out.

He was still angry when he got home, and ignoring the multitude of texts Andy had sent him, opening the front door afraid that he was going to find James panicking or Richard projectile vomiting. Or worse, that there would be an ambulance at the door, or no one home and just a note that told him he’d missed them going to hospital. Instead, he found Richard wrapped in his sleeping bag and sat on the floor playing with some motorbike parts, the bucket present but the lethargy of the previous days absent.

“Hamster!” cried Jeremy. “You’re better!” His annoyance evaporated at the sight of his two friends happily mucking about with engine parts rather than slumped on the sofa. “I am never letting you cook again.”

“Ha ha,” said Richard. “I think we’ve already had that conversation. Plus surely this counts as learning my lesson?”

“But you forced me and James to learn the lesson too,” observed Jeremy. “There was carrying and cleaning and worrying.”

“We even called your Mum,” added James.

Richard’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“She wasn’t at all concerned,” said James. “We were just worried about how much your ribs were poking out.”

Richard hurriedly crossed his arms over his chest, covering any prominent ribs. “Which would be fixed if I ate something, but you’ve banned me from cooking?”

“I am going to make mashed potato,” announced James. “And beans.”

Jeremy wrinkled his nose.

“It’s easy on the dodgy stomach,” said James. “You can always add some curry sauce to it or something. He puked up toast earlier, so I don’t think we should get too ambitious.”

“I did aim at a reporter,” pointed out Richard.

“Really?” grinned Jeremy.

“All over his shoes,” confirmed Richard.

“For that, I will eat bland food,” conceded Jeremy. “Tell me all about it.”

………………………………………

Richard climbed out of his sleeping bag, stepped over various engine components and picked up the bucket, taking it to James and waving it to him. “Look, it’s empty, and I ate some lunch.”

James looked up at him. “Barely,” he pointed out. “Are you trying to say something?”

“I want to go out for a walk! I want to get out somewhere,” said Richard. “You said if I ate something..”

“I think I was imagining a bit more than that!” protested James. “I think you ate one bean and a scoop of mash.”

“It was food.”

“Only just,” put in Jeremy.

“I just want to get out! I need some fresh air!”

James rolled his eyes, catching Jeremy’s similarly exasperated expression as he did so, but still unable to simply tell Richard that he had to stay in. He sighed. “You’ll have to wrap up really warm,” he said.

“OK!” Richard leapt up, a sharp contrast from the last few days, and raced upstairs.

“I don’t think he’s going to wait long,” observed James.

“I’m on it,” agreed Jeremy, fetching two pairs of shoes and inserting his first foot. By the time he had his second shoe on, Richard had reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, apparently wearing every item of clothing he owned.

“Coat and shoes,” sighed James, pulling his boots on.

Moments later, Richard was stood next to James, complete with embarrassing Trolls wellies and a huge, thick coat that over the top of his other clothing was actually preventing his arms from lying against his sides. “I’m ready,” he announced.

“I can see that,” commented James, trying not to laugh at Jeremy’s expression.

“The door is open,” announced Jeremy, flinging the door open and stepping back. “Freedom!”

Richard shuffled enthusiastically in Jeremy’s direction, with James following him, and they were finally outside.

It was only October, but after several days inside it felt distinctly chilly. They could see their breath as they walked, though the sheep and the cows in the fields around them didn’t seem to care, and Jeremy’s fingers were cold enough for him to stick them firmly in his pockets. There weren’t many other walkers around, or much traffic on these back roads, just the odd dog walker, and thankfully no man-eating dogs today. Jeremy was still quite wary of one particular woman in the nearby village whose three dogs seemed determined to eat him. Richard, who didn’t seem at all concerned by any possibility of man eating dogs, went to pet any dog he saw the instant they were close enough – much to the concern of many of the owners – but managed to keep his fingers intact.

And the concern of James, of course, Jeremy conceded. James was full on cat person when Richard started petting dogs he’d never met.

Jeremy was only worried about the man eating dogs, because really Richard would only be a small snack between the three of them.

They rounded a corner on the little road and finally reached their favourite path, over a little stile and into a wooded area, leading down to a stream. A good target for a casual saunter, stretching legs and getting fresh air without over taxing anyone, and probably an opportunity to stop at the stream to chuck a few pebbles in and see if they could skim anything right across. With all his padding on, Richard struggled stiffly over the stile, but didn’t complain, apparently the look on James’s face had distilled a fear of getting sent back inside into the boy, he seemed determined to fly under the radar. Jeremy simply nudged him slightly towards James as he wobbled a bit too far at the top of the stile, and he cleared it without anyone being any the wiser.

Ordinarily, mucking about by the stream would wind up with Richard paddling in it, splashing around and making a lot of noise, and James and Jeremy quietly finding a rock to sit on while they tossed pebbles in, trying to splash Richard or trying to skim them across, it didn’t really matter. Today, however, when they arrived Richard slumped onto Jeremy’s favourite rock, out of breath.

“Hamster?” asked Jeremy, sinking down onto the next rock. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” smiled Richard, wearily. “I’m just a bit tired today.”

“On account of hardly eating anything,” pointed out James.

“Could be,” acknowledged Richard.

“Repeat after me,” said James. “James is always right.”

Richard laughed. “The words won’t come out!”

Jeremy grinned. “Try Jezza is always right.”

Richard snorted. “As if!”

“Budge up,” said James, ignoring the good natured teasing and nudging Richard over to sit down himself. “I need to throw a few stones.” He made himself comfortable, squeezing Richard between the two of them, then started scrabbling round on the floor for stones, coming back with a handful and passing some along to Richard and Jeremy.

“Best noise,” he announced, tossing his first and making a very satisfying plop when it hit the water.

Jeremy lobbed his into the stream, inevitably throwing too hard and hitting the other side before bouncing back into the stream.

James laughed. “Power!” He turned to Richard, sat between them. “You giving it a go?”

“Of course,” Richard grinned, his mind clearly as enthusiastic as ever, but his body not entirely on board. He bounced the stone a couple of times in his hand, then carefully threw it, underarm, landing nicely in the middle of the stream with a nice, effective splash.

“Not bad,” nodded James. “Mine was better though.” He threw another stone before Richard or Jeremy could argue.

“Clearly, I could defeat that with more power,” remarked Jeremy. “But there’s something leaning on my throwing arm.”

James looked round as Richard weakly thumped Jeremy, noting how heavily Richard was leaning on their friend now. “Time to go back?” he asked.

“I think so,” agreed Jeremy, nudging Richard round onto his back. “Piggy back?” he whispered.

Richard nodded, scrambling onto Jeremy’s back and wrapping his arms round his neck as Jeremy stood up from the rock.

James grinned. “Home for hot chocolate then?”

………………………………………………

They’d made it through the day. Jeremy and James sat, relaxed for the first time in days on the sofa having a drink, whilst Richard slept – a bit early, but happy – in his own bed. Simply enjoying the peace, and relief that it was all over.

“We need to get this worrying about everything sorted, you know,” said James, quietly as he sipped his beer. “Mrs Hammond knew right away it wasn’t anything to panic over.”

“She’s had a lot of Hamster practice,” pointed out Jeremy.

“So have we – when he was bigger.”

Jeremy chuckled. “True.”

“He’s fine,” said James, unclear whether he was telling himself or Jeremy, probably both. “And we should stop worrying.”

“Worrying is a parent thing,” pointed out Jeremy. “Even if you’re only playing big brother for a while.” He paused, messing about on his phone. “Though if you think distraction would work, I have something new to worry about.”

“What?” asked James as Jeremy held his phone out to him.

“Hamster Hammered?” He read aloud, stopping to look at Jeremy before he even made it beyond the headline. “Really?”

Jeremy snorted. “I guess that reporter wasn’t very pleased about his shoes!”

James rolled his eyes. “Andy’s going to kill us.”


End file.
